Humor: life in hell

MY FIRST DAY IN HELL -- by JACK HANDEY

My first day in Hell is drawing to a close. They don’t really have a sunset here, but the fires seem to dim a bit, and the screaming gets more subdued. Most of the demons are asleep now, their pointy tails curled up around them. They look so innocent, it’s hard to believe that just a few hours ago they were raping and torturing us.

The day started off at a party at the Chelsea Hotel, where some friends were daring me to do something. The next thing I knew, I was in Hell. At first, it seemed like a dream, but then I remembered that five-Martini dreams are usually a lot worse.

There’s a kind of customs station when you arrive here, where a skeleton in a black robe checks a big book to make sure your name’s there. And as he slowly scans the pages with his bony finger you can’t help thinking, Why does a skeleton need a robe? Especially since it’s so hot. That’s the first thing you notice about Hell, how hot it is. I know it’s a cliché, but it’s true. Fortunately, it’s a steamy, sulfury kind of hot. Like a spa or something.

You might think that people in Hell are all nude. But that’s a myth. You wear what you were last wearing on earth. For instance, I am dressed like the German U-boat captain in the movie “Das Boot,” because that’s what I wore to the party. It’s an easy costume, because all you really need is the hat. The bad part is, people are always asking you who you are, even in Hell. Come on! “Das Boot”!

The food here turns out to be surprisingly good. The trouble is, just about all of it is poisoned. So a few minutes after you finish eating you’re doubled over in agony. The weird thing is, as soon as you recover you’re ready to dig in all over again.

Despite the tasty food and warm weather, there’s a dark side to Hell. For one thing, it’s totally disorganized. That anything gets done down here is a miracle. You’ll be herded along in one big line, then it’ll separate into three lines, then the lines will all come back together again! For no apparent reason! It’s crazy. You try to ask a demon a question, but he just looks at you. I don’t mean to sound prejudiced, but you wonder if they even speak English.

To relieve the boredom, you can throw rocks at other people in line. They just think it was a demon. But I discovered the hard way that the demons don’t like it when they’re beating someone and you join in.

It’s odd, but Hell can be a lonely place, even with so many people around. They all seem caught up in their own little worlds, running to and fro, wailing and tearing at their hair. You try to make conversation, but you can tell they’re not listening.

A malaise set in within a couple hours of my arriving. I thought getting a job might help. It turns out I have a lot of relatives in Hell, and, using connections, I became the assistant to a demon who pulls people’s teeth out. It wasn’t actually a job, more of an internship. But I was eager. And at first it was kind of interesting. After a while, though, you start asking yourself: Is this what I came to Hell for, to hand different kinds of pliers to a demon? I started wondering if I should even have come to Hell at all. Maybe I should have lived my life differently, and gone to Heaven instead.

I decided I had to get away—the endless lines, the senseless whipping, the forced sing-alongs. You get tired of trying to explain that you’ve already been branded, or that something that big won’t fit in your ear, even with a hammer. I wandered off. I needed some me time. I came to a cave and went inside. Maybe I would find a place to meditate, or some gold nuggets.

That’s when it happened, one of those moments which could only happen in Hell. I saw Satan. Some people have been in Hell for hundreds of years and have never seen Satan, but there he was: he was shorter than I thought he’d be, but he looked pretty good. He was standing on a big rock with his reading glasses on. I think he was practicing a speech. “Hey, Satan,” I yelled out, “how’s it going?” I was immediately set upon by demons. I can’t begin to describe the tortures they inflicted on me, because apparently they are trade secrets. Suffice it to say that, even as you endure all the pain, you find yourself thinking, Wow, how did they think of that ?

My stitches are a little itchy, but at least the demons sewed most of my parts back on. More important, my faith in Hell as an exciting place where anything can happen has been restored.

I had better get some rest. They say the bees will be out soon and that it’s hard to sleep with the constant stinging. I lost my internship, but I was told I can reapply in a hundred years. Meanwhile, I’ve been assigned to a construction crew. Tomorrow we’re supposed to build a huge monolith, then take picks and shovels and tear it down, then beat each other to death. It sounds pointless to me, but what do I know. I’m new here.